Passing the Torch
by rscoil
Summary: The time has come for Carlotta to leave the Opera. (Erik/Carlotta)


"Lotte, do you ever think about retiring?"

Carlotta looked up from the sheet music in her lap. "Why? Am I losing my touch?"

Erik smirked. "Hardly. The fact remains, however, that neither of us is getting any younger. I'd like to have you around while I am still active and able to enjoy the time."

Carlotta frowned. Erik was around ten years older than she was. At least, that was their best guess, given that no one had bothered to record his birth. She was rapidly approaching sixty (not that she liked to dwell on it) and he was right that she spent a lot of time at the Opera. Of course, he was there, too, hiding in the walls or in shadowed catwalks. He'd make an appearance only if absolutely necessary, and those brief moments hardly counted as quality time.

If she was honest with herself, they were both slowing down. Erik's hair, already thin and graying when they'd met, was now nearly nonexistent. His face was lined with wrinkles, including a few laugh lines. Those were most definitely her doing.

Carlotta's own hair had changed to a steely gray. Arthritis stiffened the joints of her fingers and her knees often ached after a day of rehearsal. She could remember her grandmother telling her not to get old and wished she could heed the advice.

"Retirement might not be the worst idea," she said reluctantly. "But, bear in mind, I've spent over three decades at the Opera. It's my life's work. It will not be easy to leave."

"Nobody is saying that you cannot visit, and you could still be a guest artist if you so chose."

"A guest artist at our Opera? We made that theater what it is. I will not be put out to pasture like that. And besides, there is nobody to replace me."

"Have you considered training a successor?"

She paused. "Even if that were a possibility, I've yet to hear a soprano in the company with the necessary potential. There is no one to train."

* * *

Weeks later, Carlotta strode through the halls of the theater. A rehearsal had kept her in the building later than usual and the place was all but deserted.

A distant voice broke the silence and Carlotta paused to listen. She recognized the piece from the scene she'd just been rehearsing, but she didn't recognize the voice.

It had a sweet, youthful purity. Conservatory training was evident, but Carlotta felt that the singer was somehow missing the spirit of the piece.

After three rounds of the same aria, Carlotta finally approached the practice room. The door was halfway open and she knocked gently on the polished wood.

The woman inside jumped at the small sound. She was young, likely around twenty years old, with stringy hair and an old, worn dress. She looked as though it had been years since she'd had enough to eat. A beat up broom rested against the wall, a sign that the woman was employed as a cleaner, not as a singer.

"Madame Carlotta!"

Carlotta smiled. "You're quite talented. "

The woman blushed and went about collecting her cleaning supplies. She seemed too nervous to speak.

"Why are you not singing in the company, Mademoiselle . . . ?"

"Daae," the woman spoke reluctantly. "My name is Christine Daae. To answer your question, I was not deemed good enough for this company."

Carlotta bit her lip. She and Erik insisted upon having the finest musicians in Europe at the Opera. It was true that Christine was not yet of that caliber, but the managers were fools for not hearing her potential.

"But you could be," she said sincerely. "The potential is there. Are you taking vocal lessons?"

Christine snorted and then seemed to remember who she was talking to. "No, Madame. I cannot afford a tutor. I do not make nearly enough for that."

"Hmm, there must be a way to get you the instruction you need. I may be able to make an arrangement."

"Thank you, madame." Carlotta didn't miss the other woman's lack of optimism. Rather, Christine seemed suspicious of the offer.

Carlotta suspected that life had not been kind to Christine, but she felt that was about to change.

* * *

"You want me to take on a student?" Erik asked incredulously.

"No, I want _us_ to take on a student."

"What do you need me for? You're more than capable."

"You taught me. You built the foundation of my voice. Those early lessons are second nature to me now. How am I supposed to explain them to a novice?"

"You'll manage."

"But not as well as you would. Besides, wasn't training a successor your idea in the first place?"

"Yes, but I never intended to be involved personally."

"Why on earth not? You have fingers in dozens of pies at the Opera. What's one more?"

"Lotte," he pinched the bridge of his nonexistent nose, "I am involved at the Opera, but I remain mostly unseen. If I were to teach this girl, I would have to be in a room with her. That would mean being out in the open with her staring at the mask."

Carlotta frowned. "You know my opinion. I'm not ashamed of you. With or without a mask, I will proudly introduce you as my husband. And, if anyone has a problem with it, they will answer to me."

"Very well," Erik sighed. "It will be as you wish."

* * *

Paintings of Carlotta's favorite roles lined the walls and a grand piano commanded the parlor. A glittering chandelier hung in the foyer. Vibrant colors and rich materials pervaded every inch of the flat.

Christine was fidgeting in her chair. Her simple dress looked dreadfully out of place in the grand room. She felt very small next to the Opera's diva and the intimidating masked man.

For his part, Erik was deeply uncomfortable. Even with the flesh-colored mask obscuring his face, he was sure his emotions were as clear as day. His fingers tapped frantic melodies onto the side of his thigh. That was hardly enough to satisfy his need to play, and he soon found himself moving toward the piano. With music, at least, he might be able to relax.

"Mademoiselle, my wife assures me of the potential in your voice. I should like to hear for myself."

* * *

Several hours later, Erik sank into his armchair. With Christine gone, he removed the mask and tried to let the tension drop from his body.

Carlotta all but danced into the room. "Was I right or was I right?"

Erik smiled wryly. "She will be great, but there is a lot of work standing between now and then."

Carlotta set to work on the hard knot on his back and felt him relax as it released. "She will astonish Paris."

"After you've been astonishing them for years."

She laughed and no more was said. Soon after, her lips were on his and nothing else mattered.

* * *

"How did you two meet?" Christine asked one night.

Carlotta grinned. "Oh, it was years ago. I was fairly new to the Opera. I was still playing supporting roles in those days, and I started receiving notes from a _very_ opinionated stagehand. His main complaint was that I was pitchy in one of the duets."

"You _were_ pitchy in those days," Erik chimed in.

"Yes, and too young to know better. I'd not yet mastered how to properly support another singer, but you would never have convinced me of that at the time. Anyhow, I called him out, demanded that he show me how it was done if he was so clever. I didn't count on him actually_ being_ that clever." She smiled fondly at her husband. "My Erik is a genius. He has the best voice I've ever heard, and I've sung with just about every famous artist in Europe."

"You flatter me."

"Hardly. In fact, dear husband, I realize that Christine has never heard you sing a full piece. I propose a duet."

Carlotta took his hand and led him to the piano. What began as a duet turned into a full concert, with Christine as the only witness. It began with familiar opera selections and shifted into deeper, heartfelt pieces she didn't recognize. More than once, Christine felt she was intruding upon something private.

It was well known that Carlotta's leading men had a rough time matching her energy and intensity. Erik had no such difficulties. He matched her passion with equal fervor, and Christine was dumbstruck by the result.

She walked home that night with a basket full of food and a heart full of music.

* * *

Two years later, Carlotta sat in her dressing room for the last time. Erik's skillful fingers pinned her hair into place as she applied her makeup.

She remembered when the mirror showed an ingénue with fiery red hair. Now, she saw a full-fledged diva reflected in the glass. That was how she wanted to be remembered.

She was retiring, forty years to the day she was hired at the Opera. The farewell gala would be full of tears and laughter. Artists from all stages of her career had come to congratulate her and to sing with her one last time. It would an evening of her favorites.

Erik kissed her deeply before heading to his box. All those years, and he still left her breathless.

In Box Five, Erik beamed with pride at each performance. They had selected the music and performers themselves. Unsurprisingly, each song was nothing short of perfection.

The evening was a tribute to his years here as much as it was to hers. He'd written two new pieces for the event. The first song, played just before the intermission, was a duet for Carlotta and Christine.

He would gladly have drowned in the beauty of their combined voices. The applause was thunderous as his divas each took a bow. They were leaving the Opera in Christine's capable hands. She was more than worthy.

He was nervous about the second piece, which was broadly inspired by one of Christine's stories. At one time, it had seemed a fantastic idea to sing the Angel's part as an anonymous voice. Who else would do the piece justice? Now, as he took his place in the flies, it seemed like a ludicrous idea.

He took a deep breath to steady himself. Nobody would see him up here. This night was for his love, and he knew it was her dearest wish to sing with him on their stage.

Carlotta's strong soprano filled the theater as she opened the piece without accompaniment. The lyrics were simple and heartfelt, a plea for the Angel of Music to gift her with song. Her voice pierced even the hardest of hearts in the audience.

His voice joined hers, as light as her touch the first time they danced together. He heard the smile in her voice as the music shifted. Here was the joy of their wedding day and their time as newlyweds. There was laughter, stolen kisses between rehearsals, the thrill of singing on this very stage to an imagined audience.

Then came growth as they both matured, Carlotta's triumphs in the world of opera, and his own triumph when she performed his work onstage for the first time. When the melody turned darker, his voice supported hers unfailingly, steadfast in the face of loss and the echo of life's difficulties.

The melody softened into peace and comfort, two things he'd never known before her. She was his home.

His passage ended and Carlotta began her final aria.

Those in the audience could scarcely believe their ears. Years of training, experience, tears, laughter, and love made themselves apparent as Carlotta held their hearts on a string.

Erik could have sworn the angels wept that night.


End file.
